Monster
by L0ST GlRL
Summary: Sometimes the biggest monsters are the ones we've locked away inside us, in the deepest chambers of our mind with the hopes of it to never be seen again. And sometimes, those monsters have a way of coming back, threatening to destroy everything you've ever known. [Suicidal Actions,Sexual References,Language]
1. Nothing Left to Say

**Hey lovelies thanks for stopping by! This is actually an old account that I started up again for this fic so if I'm rusty please don't throw bricks at me please and thank you! If you have questions/comments/suggestions/confessions/food please feel free to talk to me!**

**WARNING: Suicidal thoughts/actions are depicted in this chapter, please click away if you feel uncomfortable in any way trust me I won't be offended. **

* * *

I don't feel anything but the desire to feel nothing. I don't feel the rain stinging my skin, or the wooden floor that scrapes the soles of my feet. Making my way to the metal railing, I don't feel the tears streaming down my face that mix with the rain into nothing more than salty droplets.

I feel nothing.

My hands clasp blindly onto the railing and I pull myself to the outer ledge, so the only thing separating me from my imminent watery grave is my own hands. The world is achingly dark under the moon's shadow. Ink-stained skies confirm it's already late into the night, so by the time daylight stirs the crew, I will already be good and gone. The thought and my growing insanity bring a smile to my lips. None would know I was gone until morning.

No one could stop me.

_What did it feel like, _I wonder_, to be submerged completely in water?_ _Would you feel weightless, or would all of your burdens weigh you down, until the last memory of you was a single air bubble? _If I let go of the railing, would the sadness go away? Or would it still haunt me in an eternal slumber?

I shiver.

Every passing second I become increasingly inclined to find out what death tastes like. Anything would be better than this living hell - even if it meant I wouldn't live at all. And yet, despite my former desire to end it all, I find myself suddenly holding back. I can't leave just yet. Not yet. I have to tell her.

The words are easy to form in my head, seeing that I've wanted to say them for so long. What proves to be the challenge is forming them on my tongue. I haven't used my voice in so long to speak that I scarcely remember what it sounds like, let alone how to use it.

The first attempt vocalizes itself into an unintelligible rasp, until finally I'm able to enunciate the words, even if I'm the only one that would hear them. My voice doesn't sound the same. It's heavier than I remember – burdened by a type of anguish that a lifetime of bliss could never take away. I hate hearing it, more than I had ever hated anything else, but I have to say the words out loud, just once, so she can here.

"Mother," I manage thickly, my fingers slipping off the rails one by one. "I'm so sorry I killed you."

And as I recall all of my mistakes that led me to this, I unlatch my fingers from the railing and let the crashing waters eat me alive.

* * *

**REALLY short first chapter I know, but expect longer chapters in the near future. Send me a review? I'll give you a cookie? ****(Wow it's only Chapter 1 and I'm already bribing my readers).**

**Oh god.**


	2. Destination

**twotpotato: Yay first reviewer you get a cookie! I actually THOUGHT about going that route, but it might be slightly different because I'm trying really hard to get all this characterization right. But THANK YOU SO MUCH I REALLY APPRECIATE IT!**

**If you are reading this thank you so much for continuing to read past Chapter 1, really I'm honored that you spent your time reading my dumb fanfic. **

* * *

Time stands still in Neverland. Or so I've heard. It's a paradise of youth, and yet at the same time it's an imprisonment to anyone who enters it's grasps. That's why people say Peter Pan's magic is the darkest of all the in the lands; you become a victim of it willingly, and only when it's too late does anyone ever realize that they placed the noose around their neck themselves. I wonder if Pan saw Neverland the same way, or if he had coaxed himself into blissful ignorance that Neverland was everything he wanted and more.

That's is running through my mind as I near Neverland's shores, paddling from atop a spare piece of driftwood that had been in my proximity in a twist of fate. By the time I even step onto the sandy shore, I barely feel my feet connected to my legs or the rest of my body. I immediately drop to all fours, vomiting all the contents of my stomach that had been soiled by the sea's salty waters. My throat stings, and I force myself to swallow away the discomfort. Finally I'm capable of forcing myself to concentrate on my surroundings.

_How long had I been swimming? Two, three, four hours? _It seems like years since I had escaped from that nightmare of a ship. My mind flashes back to the moment of numbness when I jumped into what I thought would be my demise. What I _hoped_ would be my demise.

What concerns me is that I still wish I hadn't survived.

But none of it mattered now; I had escaped, I'm safe. _I'm finally free. _I tuck the ugly memories into the back of my mind, into the dustiest corner that I hoped I would never have to visit again.

My ears tune in to the sounds around me: the gentle waves lapping at the sand in a drowsy cadence, which made me wonder how such a tune could be from the same world as the constant barking from a pirate ship. How could something so beautiful, so serene, exist side-by-side with something so vile? The world seemed a strange mystery that way.

I had of course never been to Neverland so I had no way of knowing if this was truly Pan's island or not, and as far as anyone knew, only one soul who had been on Pan's island ever returned. That soul was Captain Hook, who I had the displeasure of knowing in ways that I couldn't care to recount.

Hook described Neverland as beautiful, but tainted with an ominous atmosphere that clung to your skin like a leech. For a moment, you would be in awe at the landscape that surrounded you until trouble came in a form you wouldn't have thought possible. Hook never said much else about it, and I never pressed him about it; I suppose some things are better left unsaid.

Well, wherever I am it certainly is stunning. The shoreline slopes out into a crescent shape, but beyond that there was no telling how big Neverland really was. A crystal-white shore stretches out before me until it gives way to a thick forest that seems to extend for miles on end. Every tree in the forest is adorned with vines, and every vine garnished with blossoms that replicate the colors of a rising sun.

Strangely, an urge to pick a blossom off one of the trees rises up in my chest. To hold one in my very fingers, to hold something so precious, it seems more important than anything else the world could offer me. I don't remember the last time I had seen a flower in person. I can't even remember the last time I had been on dry land.

Before I can stop myself, my fingers reach forward and clasp onto a tiny purple flower that barely reaches the length of my thumb. I hold it gently, as if the entire universe's fate rests in the well-being of this one lavender blossom.

So pure, so lovely, so beautiful.

Why this flower means so much to me, I'll never know, but for some reason parting with it now seems unbearable. I tuck it into the fold of my pants, safe from harm.

Mine.

I like that idea.

The sun's rays trickle from high in the sky in like raindrops through the bloated clouds that hang low in the sky. Even with my eyes closed, I still see the suns pinkish warmth on my eyelids, and it occurs to me that the sun can be seen even when you couldn't see it.

Seen but unseen.

I like that idea too.

I sit myself on the outskirts of the beach, my feet dipped into the cold water and my hands pressed into the hot sand. What proves to be a challenge is averting my concentration from my own thoughts. For the past sixteen years, all I've ever done is think. And worry. And fear. Look where that's gotten me.

Thinking about the past is dangerous. Idle thinking will get me killed. And if I'm going to die, it's sure as hell going to be on my own terms. No one else's.

I focus on the feeling of warmth soaking into my skin. It feels good, the prickling sensation traveling from my arm to my spine, undulating throughout my body. I feel my guard dropping, and suddenly, nothing else matters: just the ocean, the sand, and the soft murmurs of the natural world…

I must have dozed off because the next thing I know my eyes flutter open to an inked sky. I force myself up, a slight panic sloshing through my stomach. _How long was I asleep?_ I vaguely remember the afternoon sun glowing high when I arrived._ Had I slept the afternoon away? _I curse myself for being so careless, especially in such an unknown terrain.

I study my surroundings. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, and for some reason that worries me. Everything seemed too quiet. This is the island of Peter Pan, the boy whom I've heard charmed boys away from their homes with a magical pipe, the boy who thrives on other's downfall, the boy who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. I shiver as I recall the stories I had heard.

I scope the terrain again, although it takes awhile for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, and even then everything is tinted indigo. After checking my surroundings with no sign of any intelligent life, I conclude that I'm alone.

Alone and safe. Although I'm terrified that I'm wrong about both.

I start pacing, half trying to ward off sleep, and half out of utter boredom. It's strange, despite being in such a marvel of a place, I can't help but feel bored. Granted, it's not like I _could_ do anything without the paranoia of being discovered looming overhead. I consider taking better shelter in the cover of the forest, but I quickly decide against the notion for now. No sense in walking into trouble where I'm already at the disadvantage of unfamiliarity. I'd go in the morning, where at least I'd have more than the moon's glimmer to guide my footsteps. I shiver at the thought of possibly running into one of Pan's henchmen, or worse, Pan himself. My only choice is to wait until morning.

The more I pace, the more I'm acutely aware of the itchy sand covering nearly the entire backside of me.

_Of course_, I grunt inwardly, cursing myself again. I suppose I deserve it for being so stupid as to fall asleep. I was stupid enough to fall asleep the first time; I'm sure as hell not going to be so vulnerable again. I can't let anyone – or anything – catch me off guard, no matter what.

Still, I need to clean myself off. The cautious side of me says no to averting my attention from keeping on the lookout for Pan to cleaning a ragged shirt. The practical side of me figures it shouldn't take long to clean myself off before I'm back to full alertness. And besides, if it's late at night, what would Peter Pan or a stray lost boy be doing at this edge of Neverland? I give myself five minutes to get the job done.

I'm surprised when I step into the water; it's much warmer than I remember, or would expect for so late at night. I don't question it, and venture deeper into the water, enjoy feeling it's warmth seep into every crevice of my skin. The sand comes off quickly from my skin and my clothes, but I still find myself lingering. It feels so good, and I can't remember the last time I had properly bathed. Years, maybe?

I make sure that there is a comfortable amount of sand under my toes, because swimming has never been a specialty of mine before moving my hands to my hair. I tug my fingers through my knotted hair, brown locks that I hadn't thought much about until now. It used to be like my mother's, soft and wavy. Now I'm thankful there isn't a mirror anywhere to be found - I don't want to know what kind of havoc years at sea had brought to my hair. It takes multiple attempts to get my hair somewhat manageable (undoing years of damage is harder that you would think). I fix my hair as best as I can and tie it up with a piece of string I had filched from my time on Hook's ship. It's one of the few things I actually own. Once I'm satisfied with my hair, I get to work scrubbing off as much dirt as I can from my face before moving on to my body.

My hands trace along my curves, and before I can stop myself, I slip my top from over my head, and fling it onto the shore. The cautious part of me is probably shaking it's head in disappointment, but the part of me I had hidden for so long slowly stirs to life. I'm free. I've never been so free. I don't know why it took me so long to have this revelation, but I wasn't going to go without enjoying this moment. Because in this moment, no one in the universe can touch me, and that's all that matters. I'm free.

I duck headfirst into the water, ecstasy coursing through my veins like a surging river. I like the feeling of being suspend in water - no ground below me and above only water and sky. I felt like I was flying, like nothing could stop me. I can't remember the last time I had done anything purely for joy. Purely because I wanted to. All I remember was doing things solely because my life depended on it. And for that, I do a small somersault underwater, just because I want to. After holding my breathe for as long as I can manage, I finally resurface, and when I look up, I'm staring straight into the eyes of Peter Pan.

* * *

**Yep. That happened. Send me a review and I'll give you an enchilada hmm? (yay more bribery) Expect an update in a week or two!**


	3. All Eyes

**Lydia: Don't worry I didn't abandon this fanfic! Thank you so much you beautiful person you! And as promised, *gives you cheese enchilada* :P**

**Okay here's Chapter 3, with plenty of awkward Peter Pan moments to tide you 'till the next update.**

* * *

Shit.

No other word describes my predicament better. Here I am, half naked in the water in front of the last person I wanted to even see fully clothed. I curse myself again for being so stupid; of course I couldn't have five minutes for myself. It's as if Pan just calculated the worst possible moment for me to make his grand appearance - right when I was at my weakest. I shiver at the idea that he had been watching this whole time.

My stomach tumbles inside me, pressing against my other organs to the point where I think I might burst. I pray he can't hear the blood pumping through my ears as loudly as I can. My nerves are pulsing a hundred times a second, and no matter how much I try I can't move. I can't even find the strength to cover my chest. Every fiber in my being wants to run away and hide, but I can't. It's like I'm paralyzed, condemned to whatever Pan has in store from me.

More than embarrassed at my indecency, I'm stunned to see him standing there like he had planned it all along.I make what I hope to be a calm and collected face and stare him down as hard as I can. I can't show weakness. And yet, no matter tough I make my stare it seems like his is one notch stronger. For once I'm thankful for the night sky concealing a majority of my edginess from his view. I feel my face flush with heat, sweat collecting on my forehead like a river bank.

And yet despite the heat radiating from my body, the water feels icy enough to freeze my soul.

Wait, wasn't the water warm earlier? It couldn't have possibly cooled down so much in a span of minutes, could it? Not naturally at least. Peter Pan can't control the weather, right? I shake the notion quickly; not even Pan could control Mother Nature. Nevertheless, I'm aching to get out of the now freezing water. I shift uncomfortably.

Peter Pan isn't what I expected to see. In my head, Peter Pan looked evil. He was supposed to have yellowed, crooked teeth coupled with a pointed nose to match his hideous personality. And yet, that was far from the ugly - or should I say handsome - truth. He's only….a boy. His ruffled brown hair and a boyish face conflict with his eyebrows that curved cruelly into an all-knowing stare. Like the world was a lock and he was the key. I had known for the longest time that Peter Pan was a kid in form, but only now has that realization struck me so hard. He's a child, maybe a year or two senior to me. I bite my lip uneasily until the taste of blood spills on my tongue.

"Welcome to Neverland," he finally greets genially. I'm taken aback by the pleasantness in his voice. It sounds…too pleasant. The kind of voice you'd expect if someone were trying to break bad news to you politely. Despite how much I despise hearing his voice, I want to hear it again. Something about it is alluring. I start to say something, but my voice dies inside of my throat. Not even a small sound makes itself audible.

Pan's eyebrows rise slightly at my incompetence to speak, and his lips pull back into a small smirk. "Cat got your tongue?"

Thankfully he doesn't wait for an answer and instead inches closer to me. Whether or not he's trying to get a better look at me or intimidate me I'm not sure. I can't speak if my life depended on it right now.

"It's quite alright, love, I never liked lassies who talked too much anyways. Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Peter Pan." He pauses, and I wonder if he's waiting for a reaction from me. I meet him with silence.

By now Pan's less than an arm's length away from me, and despite my exposed chest, his eye's never once stop from drilling into my eyes. His eyes shine with an eerie luster as if he's searching for something in mine, but what? Keeping still is becoming more and more challenging, and I have to fight the urge to pass out.

I almost rather him trying to stare at my chest.

"It's customary," Pan drawls when I don't respond, "to introduce yourself when someone introduces themselves." He leans forward, only a fraction of an inch, but it's a subtle message that I'm testing Pan's patience and we both know it.

"Mattie, my name's Mattie." I finally sputter before taking a half step backwards. I hope he doesn't ask for a last name, because I haven't the slightest clue what it is. It never bothered me too much thought, it's not like my family name was worth remembering. Or mentioning.

Pan smiles, and for a moment he looks like a regular teenage boy. "Pleasure to meet you, Mattie." Instantly, I regret telling him my name. I hate the way it sounds on his tongue, like it was another spilled secret. I wish I could take it back, but all I can bring myself to do is politely nod to acknowledge his greeting.

Pan continues, "So Mattie, how did a young girl like you end up on Neverland's shores, we rarely have castaways you know."

"I don't remember." The words escape too quickly to be a truth, but I'm hoping Pan will buy into my lie. I can't bring myself to vocalize the details of my past. I just can't.

Pan shoots me a skeptical glance, but quickly maintains his composure.

"You don't remember?" His eyebrows rise slightly. He isn't buying it.

"I-I remember being in a storm, a really fierce one. I must've fallen overboard my father's ship, The Argo. I can't remember much else." I shoot him a confused look, hoping to convince him.

"I see," Pan murmurs doubtfully, but he lets his eyebrows drop. "Well Mattie you must be exhausted from such a frightful storm. Why don't you dress yourself and I'll take you to my camp. There's plenty of food and bedding to go around, and I'm _sure_ the boys won't mind the company." He cordially suggests. Suggest isn't the right word, his tone is too demanding and forceful to be a mere suggestion. I suppose he'd rather have me under supervision in camp than running around Neverland.

I almost scoff at his offer. Who does he think I am? Some naïve little girl who'd just follow him _willingly _into God knows what? The idea of being led into unknown territory surrounded by Lost Boys with Peter Pan as their leader sounds too revolting for my taste. I don't trust Pan, and following him probably would make me a prisoner of Neverland. I've played prisoner far to long to put up with this.

Cordially, I tell him I'd rather make camp on my own, making sure to mimic his fake politeness. He notices my mockery. His jaw tenses up slightly and I can tell he's getting enraged that I had dared to defy his 'suggestion'.

"Are you sure, love? Neverland is crawling with all sorts of havoc. I'd hate for a beautiful creature as yourself to be caught in the middle of it." Pan steps a bit closer, flashing an iridescent smile. I wonder if he uses magic to keep it so white. Probably.

"I'm sure," I answer firmly, ignoring his indirect threat. If looks could kill Pan's glare would have me in the hospital for sure.

Pan takes a moment to recompose himself until he's back to his usual devilish demeanor.

He continues, "Anyways, it's getting late and we could both use some rest, wouldn't you say? Neverland can be a dangerous place if you aren't on your toes." And as quickly as he appeared, Pan vanishes into the dark of the night.

_What the hell was that supposed to mean?_

* * *

Since my presence in Neverland isn't a secret anymore, I figure I might as well venture into the forest to find shelter against the cold. Despite the blackness painted onto the sky, the moon and a handful of twinkling stars prove to be enough light to be able to adequately navigate through the thick vegetation. I suppose it was settled; I was really going to venture into Neverland's unknown. I quickly dress, thankful for the security of having fabric pressing against my skin again, even if they were torn and ragged.

Even at nighttime, the forest is alive with the sounds and scents of natural life. A small songbird chirps in the distance to the rhythm of a cricket orchestra and the rustle of the wind against the leaves keep time to everything. What captures my attention the most is the sharp fragrance of trees mingled with the soft aroma of the soil to create something I could never forget even if I tried. I inhale slowly, taking in as much as I possibly can as if I could lose it at any moment.

My trek continues for what seems like eons until I come across a clearing that seems suitable enough to spend the night. My only hope that it was as far away from Peter Pan as possible for the time being. I clear a small patch of dead leaves and arrange it to form a makeshift bed. It isn't much, but it's not the worst thing I've slept on in my lifetime. I'll manage. I'm far from tired, my heart's still thumping a mile a minute thinking about my encounter with Pan. I still had a lump in my throat that I couldn't quite swallow, and a sense of dread that tugged at my stomach no matter what I did. More than anything, I couldn't shake the feeling about his last words before he vanished. Had Pan meant for that to be a threat? I gulped. I didn't want to know.

I'm so consumed with my frantic thinking that I'm taken aback when my stomach rumbles furiously. I hadn't eaten since being on Hook's ship. In a way I'm a little glad; I could use a distraction from thinking about you-know-who. But where am I supposed to get food? I had never been much of a whiz about identifying edible plants in the forest, but I figure I'm bound to find something to eat. After a good while of aimless wandering in search of food, I my mouth waters at the sight of a glorious apple tree, hanging high with an abundance of fruits dangling from it's branches. The prospect of food stirs my hunger pangs even more - tantalizing red apples abounding with fresh flavor.

I can almost taste it.

My only problem is as to how I'm supposed to acquire such fruits. Reaching up, my hand doesn't reach so far as half of the tree trunk, let alone an apple. _Of course, _I think to myself, _this would happen to me. _I attempt to climb up the tree in hopes of snagging at least one, but I make it no more than seven feet up before I lose my grip and fall hard on my rear-end_. Great. _

"Forget it," I pant exasperated by torture of having food so close and yet so far. I have no patience for this right now. I trudge towards my campsite empty-handed, defeat permeating my being.

A harsh wind rattles through the treetops, causing bumps on my skin to rise. It's getting colder by the second, and I can feel my lips shivering feverishly. _Just perfect_, I sigh to myself. I tug my sleeves down as if able to protect as much of my skin from the biting wind as possible. Today just keeps getting better and better.

Sleep isn't coming easily between the cold gusts of wind and my own dark thoughts that cloud my mind. Every time I close my eyes, I see Pan. I see his ruffled brown hair and boyish face. I see his ruthless smile and shining eyes waiting for me to lose my balance so he can show me just how dangerous Neverland can be.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, and don't worry, there'll be more Pan moments coming than you'll know what to do with. **

**Review me and I'll give you an ice cream sandwich?**


End file.
